


Introspection

by rebornwhole



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Because who hasn't died in supernatural, Blood, Canonical Character Death, Codependency, Gen, I'm having too much fun with tagging, Mild Mental Breakdown, Not Beta Read, Oops my hand slipped and angst happened, Post-Episode: s10e23 My Brother's Keeper, Sam-Centric, not wincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 14:45:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3329957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebornwhole/pseuds/rebornwhole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's thoughts after Metatron kills Dean in Brother's Keeper.  </p><p>(Edited Apr. 2016)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Introspection

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work on Ao3, and it is un-betaed and written on my iPad, which lacks the awesomeness of grammar check, so all mistakes are my own. 
> 
> EDITED: Apr. 8, 2016 on an actual computer with spellcheck. Still un-betaed, and all mistakes are still my own. This is also still my only work on Ao3.

I was too late. (Again.) It is always the same thing, over and over and over.  I keep replaying it in my mind, how I keep letting him down.  I can feel the (eerily) familiar emotions that threaten to overwhelm me, just as they did when I was trapped in a twisted version of Groundhog's Day.  This time around, though, it is all too real.  And now he's gone.  I'm angry.  I’m pissed at Metatron, at Crowley, and even at Dean- especially at Dean.  He shouldn't have gone in that warehouse alone.  He should have trusted me.  When I get him back, I'm going to give him a piece of my mind. 

 

I'm in the Impala, driving towards the Bunker. (How did I get here? When did I walk to the car, when did I carry his body? When did I stop crying?) I don't think that I have ever felt more helpless in my life, not even when Jessica was on the ceiling of our small house, drenched in her own blood, by the hands of someone that I thought was my friend.  Now my brother is dead in the backseat of his beloved Chevy.  I feel as though I am going to cry again.  I can hear him telling me to buck up before he grew lady parts from exposure to my “girliness.” 

 

"Shut up, jerk."

 

No one answers.  I nearly pull over as tears blur my vision.  I scrub them away.  I can't cry.  I don’t have time to break like this. (Some would argue that I’ve already broken as I plan to make a deal with whoever or whatever I have to to bring Dean back.) The tears still fall, my consent meaning nothing to them, and I let them.  I'm going to get him back, I don’t know what I can do without him.  I know that we aren't the best of people, that those around us always end up hurt or dead or worse.  The people that have died from just being close to us is a list that is much longer than I wish to admit. We are not good people, but we are better when we have the other to balance us out. Some would call us codependent.  I know that is what we are, Dean (it hurts to even think his name) was conditioned since he was a child by Dad to take care of me. (I'm angry with my father for this and a laundry list of other things.) And I was raised by Dean, he was the one that made me feel safe, who gave me a new opinion, a laugh (even though most of his jokes weren't as funny as he thought they were), he’s my rock. (I’m going to finally return the favor he granted me many times over.) I need to take care of him for once. (Please God, if you are still there, give us a miracle just this once.) My tears have stopped (I thought that they never would.)

 

The Impala rumbles as I pull her into the Bunker’s garage.  She makes an odd sound as I cut the engine and pull the key from the ignition.  It is as if she knows that something- someone is missing. (If only she knew.) I pull Dean from the backseat (his body is cold and stiff and terribly heavy in my arms) and carry him to his room.  I place him on the bed and arrange his limbs so they won’t be uncomfortable when he wakes up. (Is this what it’s like to play with dolls?) I can finally see the damage dealt to him by Metatron.  His face is bloody (I want to kill Metatron) and his shirt is coated with crimson and brown, congealed and sticking to his skin.  I take my knife and cut it off of him. (It’s not like he is using it anyway.) I numbly leave his body on the bed, walk to the kitchen and get a bowl.  I fill it with warm water and it almost feels hot on my hands.  I reach blindly for some washcloths and the sponge (He had joked about sponge baths once and kept it.  Sometimes I wonder if he knew something like this was going to happen.) I grab some towels from the linen closet before returning to his room to clean him up. 

 

I start with his hands.  A shiver runs down my spine. (They shouldn't be this cold.) Methodically, I clean the rest of him, the water that drips down his unmoving arms and sides soaks into the towels.  (He'd kill me if I sullied his precious bed.  I wouldn't mind, that would mean he is alive to yell at me in the first place.) Soon, most of his injuries are clean and his bruises are livid against his pale skin.  I clean the wound on his chest.  There is little I can do for it.  I sit him up (carefully, like he’s a sleeping child) and pull a shirt over his head. (He won’t take kindly to waking up exposed.)  After I’ve laid him back down, I take one of his hands, (his skin feels like that of an expensive doll, cold and fragile) and fold it over the wound that seems like a chasm inside of his chest.  I leave the room to dump bloody water down the first drain I can find.  I stumble back and lurk in the doorway, feeling like a stranger at a visitation rather than a familiar in my own house.  (He had always wanted a home that wasn’t on four wheels.) My eyes stare down at his body, almost expecting him to wake up. (I feel like a child for a moment, a child wearing the skin of an adult, galavanting around as if he actually knows what he is doing.) What Dean said to me before he died comes crashing down over my ears.

 

I'm proud of us.

I'm proud of us.

I'm proud of us.

I'm proud of us. 

(Then why do I feel like I’ve just been trampled?)

 

I close my eyes against the sight of his body and turn away, feeling huge and ungainly at his threshold. (I feel guilty for leaving him like this.  Leaving him alone, and injured, and dead.)  I'm pissed.  Dean's not dead yet. (He is.  He is dead and there is little I can do.) I can still save him. (I’m clutching at threads.) All I have to do is to get Crowley here and make a deal. (If this works, Dean's gonna kill me.) Crowley started all this with the Mark of Cain and he is damn well going to finish it.  I spare one last glance in the direction of Dean’s doorway. (It's odd how he looked peaceful.)  Then I burst into motion, moving on autopilot through the halls to the “dungeon."  It may not be a crossroads, but he will take my deal, and this time around,  _ I _ will be the one who saves Dean.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely thrilled with the ending, but I don't quite know how else to put it. I do, however, feel as if I have improved this some since February 2015. And that, my friends, is irl character development. Yes, I'm a huge dweeb, I will not apologize. Please leave a comment or a kudos if you enjoyed reading this, I would love any form of feedback!!! 
> 
> Also, I don't own Supernatural or any of the characters in it. *wipes away a single tear* Sadly, this is true.
> 
> Also, a HUGE thank you to HazelDomain (if I knew how to link this awesome person, I would, but I am a noob and I don't know how to do things.) You're awesome, you reminded me this existed, thank you so much!!!!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not entirely thrilled with the ending, but I don't quite know how else to put it. I do, however, feel as if I have improved this some since February 2015. And that, my friends, is irl character development. Yes, I'm a huge dweeb, I will not apologize. Please leave a comment or a kudos if you enjoyed reading this, I would love any form of feedback!!! 
> 
> Also, I don't own Supernatural or any of the characters in it. *wipes away a single tear* Sadly, this is true.
> 
> Also, a HUGE thank you to HazelDomain (if I knew how to link this awesome person, I would, but I am a noob and I don't know how to do things.) You're awesome, you reminded me this existed, thank you so much!!!!


End file.
